


Capture the Moment

by ThereWillBeCubes



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: AU, DeadTube AU, Gift Fic, Gore, I don't know how bad it is, M/M, Mild Gore, Piss, Violence, anyway, but non sexual, or - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 10:42:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10852320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThereWillBeCubes/pseuds/ThereWillBeCubes
Summary: AU based on the manga DeadTube, about a video-sharing site where people compete to have the most views, and there's no limits to what you can post.





	Capture the Moment

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AnalDestroyer69](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnalDestroyer69/gifts).



> this is a gift fic for outeridiot-innerfabulous, for her birthday! 
> 
> based on her/our shance deadtube au (we have so many aus it's ridiculous) though I did make a lot of my own changes. 
> 
> also I wrote this in like... 6 hours so it might seem a bit rough around the edges

  
The fist connected heavily, slamming into his cheek. It was hard enough to bruise, and he was going to get a tongue-lashing later about  _ getting into fights, again! What kind of role model are you being to your brothers and sisters? _

Lance would retort, _ one that stands up to bullies! _

His Mami had already sat down with him, told him to pick his battles. He wasn’t the one being bullied, he didn’t have to get beaten to a pulp alongside the Shirogane boy.

To be fair, Lance downplayed the bruises he gave the other boys.

He recovers quickly, dodging another punch aimed at his face, and slams his flat palm onto the nearest neck, kicking at the taller boy’s knees. He goes down, wheezing, and another grabs Lance’s arms, shouting for someone to hit him.

Lance thrashes, pulling his captor close to bite down on his hands, as viciously as he can.. The guy squeals, immediately letting him go.

He doesn’t have sympathy when he tastes the tang of blood. They had done much worse, just so they could get grainy footage on their cellphones. It wasn’t enough to just beat kids up, they had to film it, too.

“I’ll fucking knock your teeth out!” the bloodied boy hisses, cradling his hand, and Lance waves his own, watching all three warily. One is filming, but their face is hesitant, looking to each of his friends nervously.

“You could, but how would you go against all my older brothers?”

They exchange looks, bravado fading. Lance had never specified how _many_ siblings he had; for all they know, he has a dozen, all ready to beat them up for hurting their brother.

“If you think I’m trouble, wait until you meet them!”

That makes them back off, swearing and yelling threats, and Lance feels some of the tension leach from his body, adrenalin beginning to slow, and breathes a sigh of relief.

Lance reaches to the pavement, picking up a pair of glasses, checking them over. A little scratched, but not too bad. At least they’re not broken.

Takashi Shirogane watches him, one eye swollen, shaking as Lance helps him up. His good eye roves over Lance’s face, and his bottom lip trembles.

“You’re bleeding…” he whispers, hugging his books as he reaches out a tentative hand, “I.. wait… I have something…”

He patches up Lance’s face, looking distraught, dabbing with a white handkerchief at Lance’s lip.

“I’m sorry, Lance… I’m so useless...” 

Lance shakes his head, cracking a smile. It hurt a little. 

“Well, you don’t have any older siblings, you don’t have any practise!”

Takashi looks anxious at the suggestion, and Lance shuffles his feet.

“Well, you can help me with my science homework, right?”

“Y-yeah.”

The walk to Shiro’s is in silence, and the house is dark and quiet when Shiro opens the door, voice low as he says “I’m home.”

Shiro’s smart, so much smarter than him, but even with his help, the words can’t stay in his head. They slide out, useless and blank, as Lance stares at the page. 

“Lance?” Shiro asks quietly, “are you okay?”

“Why do they film it?” Lance mutters, rubbing at his eyes, wincing as he unwittingly grinds into a developing bruise.

Shiro blinks slowly, and his good eye flicks away, looking to the door.

“They put it online.”

“On- what?”

“On the internet,” Shiro says tonelessly, “on video-sharing sites.”

“What?” 

“They get popular. I’ll show you.”

Before Lance can protest, Shiro stands, and leads him to the ‘study.’ Lance’s house didn’t have any spare rooms, and their computer was in his parent’s room. It didn’t interest him all that much, but Shiro’s house is lonely and quiet. 

Shiro pulls up a chair for him, and types in some words. 

The site is simple, with lists of videos. Shiro clicks on one. 

It’s him, getting beat up, books everywhere, bag emptied onto the ground as the camera points at his stomach. Feet kicking into it. Lance feels a familiar flare of anger, hands curling into fists.

Shiro exits, glancing at him.

“It’s okay,” he says.

There’s angry tears in Lance’s eyes. How could he say that? How could he accept it?

“It’s not okay! They- those-”

Shiro pats his arm.

“I can’t do anything about it, Lance.”

There’s more videos, and Lance squints angrily to read the titles:

 

__ Broken nose kid  
  


__ Pushing him down the stairs!  
  


_ Hold and punch _

 

“It gets views, you see.”

 

-

 

He thought about him, sometimes. When he came across a story about bullying, or he felt his adrenaline surging as people brought out their phones to film arguing classmates. 

One year, Shiro was there, and the next, right when Lance was going to high school... he was gone. Some kids said he’d gone back to Asia, others said he must’ve snapped, they must have put him in a hospital for crazy people. 

Lance had gotten into a few more fights, but like everything else, the news faded, quickly replaced by other stories and rumours. More videos spreading, whispers about new sites to upload to, where people could see even worse things...

It turned his stomach, even as curiosity rose within him, he quashed it. He wouldn’t watch another kid like Shiro being abused for the sake of his curiosity. He couldn’t.

Lance is almost frightened when he gets his own phone, afraid of what it meant. 

He turned his camera to the sea, to the glitter of the waves and the cacophony of the storm. He filmed cats as they stretched and slept in the sun, heartwarming to see them so soft and happy. The seasons as the leaves turned red and gold, tossed by the autumn wind, and the crisp frost and sheen of winter. The dew on the grass and the flowers, bees delicately collecting pollen, baby birds learning to fly. 

It bled into his life; his daydreams turning to spreads of colour and thoughts about what he could see next, what awaited. Sketches in the margins of his notes. 

He uploaded the videos, but most stayed in the low views. 

There was so much beauty in the world. 

Why did they want to see such vileness? 

 

-

 

Puberty had hit Shiro like a train.

Lance almost didn’t recognise him when he looked up, hearing his name spoken with a cautious voice.

The guy standing over him was tall, almost as tall as he was, filled out with tight muscles, chest and jaw hard and defined. 

But there was no mistaking those eyes, those brows, the smile of incredulity as he recognised his childhood friend.

“Takashi?!” he splutters, leaping to his feet, “Takashi Shirogane?!”

And Shiro’s smile grew wider, eyes crinkling like he remembered. 

“Lance,” he murmurs, “it really is you.”

Lance couldn’t believe it. He, and his lost friend, here, at the same college, in the same city. He couldn’t help but laugh, grabbing his friend for a hug, and awkwardly realising that his body was toned, built, while he remained a beanpole.

“I can’t believe it!” 

Punching him on the arm hurts, Lance jerking his hand away as his knuckles throb.

That’s when he notices Shiro’s right arm, no longer flesh and bone, but metal.

He bites his tongue as Shiro tugs down his sleeve to cover it up.

“What are you doing here?” Lance asks, and Shiro laughs.

“Oh, you know, seeing how high my debt can get,” he replies, and Lance laughs.

“I couldn’t believe it, when I finally saw you…”

“Finally?”

“Oh, uh,” Shiro says, voice dropping, “I just thought, I hoped… that I’d see you again, one day.”

Lance’s heart swells, and he lightly punches him again, left arm this time.

“Aww, I missed you too, big guy. Goddamn. You got buff.”

Shiro’s smiles sardonically.

“Turns out that practise helped.”

 

-

 

Lance is glad to see a familiar face, to have a friend in this strange city, but truth be told, he doesn’t see Shiro all that often. 

They move in different circles; Lance, studying and working full-time just to get by, living on noodles and rice, and Shiro… well, Shiro doesn’t have to. His family was always loaded.

He’s got admirers, plenty of them. Lance can spot an asskisser a mile away. 

He doesn’t blame them. Shiro got hot. The smart, handsome guy, who could resist…?

Well, he could. He kinda had no choice. They weren’t kids anymore, fending off bullies. Lance was just Lance, and Shiro was… well. He had a lot more going for him. 

He’s thankful, god, even flattered, when Shiro makes time for him; surprising him at work, buying him lunch, offering to study with him. 

Even those brief times together make Lance happy. He wonders if Shiro feels guilty, that Lance fought so many battles for him. He didn’t need to.

Lance was just glad to see him smile.

 

-

 

Shiro invites him for coffee after exams, saying he’s missed Lance’s company; they’ve both been so busy, they hadn’t seen each other in weeks.

The cafe is a cute, warm little place, with booths and flowers on the counter. Shiro insists on buying his drink, and Lance can’t help but feel like they’re on a date; facing each other as they sit by the window, the waitress smiling at them a little too knowingly. 

Shiro seems relaxed, smelling his coffee and sighing. His new… arm, rests easy, curled lazily around the ceramic. Lance tries not to stare, but his eyes keep drawing back to it, questions queuing on his tongue.

“I saw some of the videos you uploaded,” Shiro says suddenly, smiling.

Lance awkwardly nibbles on his straw, uncomfortably aware of Shiro’s meaning.

“They were lovely. You have a great eye, Lance.”

“They’re my best feature,” Lance replies, trying to affect a casual, unbothered air. Shiro’s expression is sharp.

“Do you still practise film?”

“No.” 

It’s curt, short, snappy, and Lance puts up his hands in apology.

“Sorry, I… I just… I didn’t like the environment.”

Shiro nods slowly. His eyes soften, looking down at his coffee, expression becoming solemn.

“I understand.”

An awkward silence settles over them, Shiro sipping at his drink, and Lance chewing his straw into useless flat plastic.

“I… I ask because… well…”

Shiro sighs, cheeks flushing, “I wanted you to film me.”

Lance feels his entire face spasm with shock, eye brows shooting up, mouth twisting and opening, gaping.

“I know, it must seem strange, given… that...  but I-” 

Shiro is red now, left hand nervously fiddling with his teaspoon, eyes not meeting Lance’s.

“... I want to see how I look… how I look through your lens.”

“My.. lens…?”

Shiro nods, almost shyly.

“Those videos of me… from… that time. I don’t want those to be… it. I want… I want better. And Lance, you… your videos…” 

He smiles, eyes crinkling.

“They’re beautiful.”

Lance’s heart seizes. Shiro, had he ever seen Shiro smile like that? Look at him like that? 

Blood rushes to his face, and he nods.

Shiro’s mouth opens in surprise, eyes shining.

“You will? You’ll film me?” he asks, leaning forward.

“Yeah...of course,” Lance replies, voice soft. 

Shiro grabs his hand, curling his own tightly around. The metal one is surprisingly warm, maybe the heat from the coffee…?

“Thank you, Lance! Thank you.”

 

-

 

Lance feels awkward about it now, as Shiro presents him with a brand new camera, fully charged. He asks if Lance needs to get used to it, fiddle with it, and Lance gratefully takes the chance to have more time to... prepare.

“I want you to film me, non-stop, for two days.”

He hadn’t been expecting it. 

“Non-stop…?”

“That would be… it would be perfect.”

Shiro says they can start on Friday. Lance didn’t have classes, and then they could film into the weekend. 

For someone who had been filmed a dozen times over for someone else’s kicks, Shiro is a natural. He’s relaxed, easy, free to show himself. 

He smiles over the lens, to Lance, introducing him to others as his cameraman; that they’d partnered up for a special project. The looks through the viewfinder were mixed; surprise, discomfort, jealousy.

It’s not surprising Shiro is popular. Top of his class, brilliant, kind. Drop dead gorgeous. 

There’s a few classes, then lunch, study. 

Shiro still has glasses for reading, and Lance almost blushes whenever Shiro looks up from under his frames. 

Then to his apartment, Shiro steadying him on the crowded train, arm around Lance’s waist. 

It’s a nice place, newly built, unlike Lance’s shoebox of an apartment. Lance nudges off his shoes, wriggling his toes in the soft carpet. 

“Lance.”

Shiro’s standing in his bathroom, door open, hand reaching into his pants.

“W-what are you doing?” Lance asks, pointing the camera away. Shiro raises an eyebrow.

“I need to piss.”

“Well, then I’ll stay out here!”

Shiro is quiet for a moment, and to Lance’s horror, he shakes his head.

“Lance, I asked you if you could film everything.”

Lance baulks.

“Not- not everything! I’m not filming you piss!”

He freezes when Shiro pulls out his dick, holding it in his hand.

_ Big hands. _

“There, now you’ve seen my dick,” Shiro says, unfazed. 

Lance gapes.

“I’m- I’m not-”

“Please.”

Shiro stares at him, voice wavering… vulnerable. It’s surreal.

“I want everything captured.”

Lance wrinkles his nose, inching into the bathroom. He doesn’t have to watch, he doesn’t have to edit this. He’ll just give Shiro the memory card and be done with it.

He flinches as the water splashes, sucking in his lip and biting hard. 

Shiro’s piss-stream seems to last an age, but finally, it stops, and Shiro flushes. 

Lance almost runs out of the room, shuddering. God, what if Shiro showered? Would that be worse? He just filmed him _ pissing- _

“I have a futon for you,” Shiro says, calmly. 

Lance is thankful when he gets into bed.

“You can sleep too, you know. I have a tripod,” Shiro says, his head resting on his pillow. 

“No-!” Lance says, surprising himself. Shiro seems surprised too, but doesn’t argue, smiling.

“Sleep if you want to.”

But goddamn, Lance was already in too deep. He can go a night without sleep. He would do this right, and then never agree to something like this again.

He wasn’t going to give any reason to need a- a ‘do-over.’

 

-

 

Shiro’s an early riser, but most of the day is spent indoors, watching him working and studying. He confesses he can’t cook, heating up pre-packaged meals for the both of them. 

Lance can feel his eyes drooping from time to time. Shiro spends a lot of hours in silence. 

“Hey, Lance.”

Lance jerks, half-asleep, and Shiro looks sheepish. He’s wearing a black jacket over his shirt, a bag slung on his back. There’s a certain… tenderness to his expression, smile small and soft as he helps Lance up.

“Thank you so much, you’ve… you’ve done everything I’ve asked. We’re almost done.”

He beams, “I couldn’t ask for a better cameraman. Come on, I want to show you something.”

He leads Lance to the basement of the apartment building, dark and silent. Shiro presses his keys, and Lance jumps as the car closest to them unlocks, orange lights flashing.

“Wait, you have a  _ car?” _ Lance asks, incredulously, and Shiro grins, opening the driver-side door.

“Yeah, I bought it recently. Do you like it?”

“Well- yeah-!”

“Come on.”

The inside is nicer than Lance imagined. The smell of leather, the glow of the lights, the warmth that enveloped the interior.

He keeps the camera on Shiro, loving the way the lights moved over his face. They turned from from bright white to dim yellow, sparse and low. Lance glances around, the car moving quickly through the streets, traffic melting away.

They finally come to stop, the purr of the engine fading, the lights dimming, until there’s nothing but the outside light. 

It wasn’t anywhere Lance recognised, unsettlingly dark, the roads and paths deserted. On the other side of the bay, the city glittered white and gold, a warmth that didn’t reach them. The camera screen was dark, picking up outlines and the low light, but not much else. Shiro opens the driver door; the click seems to echo, and Lance swallows thickly, unwilling to step out into the cold. 

Shiro smiles, and that too, is unsettling, eyes hard to see in the darkness. 

“Come on.”

“Where… where are we?”

“Does it matter?” Shiro asks, “don’t worry, we’re going inside.”

Lance looks at the closest buildings, each of them rundown warehouses with boarded up windows and chained gates. 

The camera shakes a little as he gets out of the car, and he jumps at the loud jingle of Shiro’s keys. 

“Seriously, Shiro, where are we?” Lance demands, feet unwilling to move. Shiro moves to the gate, and his key works, the padlock clicking open.

“It’s a surprise. All you have to do is film.”

“I- I don’t like this.”

Shiro’s face is blank, curiously colourless. His whole body is dressed in black, swallowed up by the shadows. 

“Nothing is going to hurt you.”

He opens the gate, beckoning.

“Lance, I wouldn’t let anything happen to you. I won’t. It’s okay.”

And Lance desperately believes him, following him into the abandoned yard. Shiro opens a little side door, leading him through darkened rooms, torch out. With every step Lance’s discomfort and unease grows, threatening to buckle his legs, and he gets closer to Shiro, finding him the only comfort. 

“Through here.”

Lance walks forward, but Shiro puts out an arm.

“Wait here for a minute.”

Lance is rooted to the spot, swallowing the thick lump in his throat. Was Shiro an eccentric artist? That would explain the all-black. He can hear a strange noise, somewhere ahead.

There’s a hum, low, the purr of energy thrumming through the building. 

Lights come on, the world suddenly too-bright, starkly coloured. Lance automatically shuts his eyes, blinking as colours shift, neon and blanketing his vision.

Lance freezes, muscles locking into place, as the room comes into focus.

It’s the main part of the building, it must be; huge, the windows along the ceiling boarded, the interior almost empty. In front of him are the lights; huge stage lights, pointing down at a figure in the centre of the room.

It’s a man in a chair, writhing. The sounds are moans, yells, muffled and stoppered by a gag tied so tight that it turns his face too-white. Below his feet is a stretch of thick plastic, his bare toes wriggling and shifting, but he can’t move them too far- no… they’re stuck in place. Nails. Nails in his feet.

There’s already blood, oozing in small rivulets, deep red on pale, clammy skin. It’s been torn, stretched; fish hooks, wickedly barbed and shining, tense on fine fishing line.

Beside the chair, there’s a cart, covered with a sheet.

Lance trembles as a hand gently caresses his back, sliding along his arm, until Shiro passes him, moving towards the injured man.

Shiro moves around his captive, gloved hand plucking at a wire, smiling as the man screams behind his gag. He reaches into his suit pocket, pulling out an eyemask. 

It’s simple, stiff and black, rounded at the edges, but the effect is positively demonic, Shiro’s eyes staring deep into his, jet black and bottomless. 

Shiro sighs, shuddering, smiling. He spreads his arms, looking to the sky, and then to him.

“We’re going to make something wonderful, Lance.”

Lance’s knees shake, legs weak, but he can’t move, he can’t speak. The man in the chair moans, eyes rolling towards him, then to Shiro, tears running down his cheeks. Lance can see them, they glisten in the lights. 

Shiro smiles, gesturing around the cavernous room. 

“Lights, stage, actors… but there’s no other cameras, Lance. I need you to capture this for me.”

“Shiro…” Lance manages to croak, “Shiro, what… what is this?”

Shiro smiles wider.

“This… this is for you.”

Lance wants to step back, to run. 

God, Shiro locked all the doors, didn’t he? How fast could he run? 

Would he do the same if Lance tried? Lance’s muscles twitch, and his mind reels, unable to imagine the dozen fish hooks in his skin, stretching- tearing-

“Lance-” when did he get so close-? “Lance, calm down.”

Lance almost laughs at the absurdity of it all. Surely, this- this was just an elaborate setup- an act-

“You- you’re- this is f-fake, isn’t it? This is messed up- but- it’s fake, right?”

Shiro puts a gloved finger to Lance’s lips. His eyes are softer, lips in a gentle smile.

“No. This is the most genuine experience I can give you. Everything will be real. This is all real.”

“No- no- This isn’t funny, Shiro!”

Shiro steps back. 

“You’re right, it’s not. This is serious.”

He walks back to the man in the chair, pulling the sheet from the table.

Weapons, tools, ropes, wires. They’re arranged so neatly, clean. With precision and care. All planned, all particularly placed.

“Do you know who this man is? I’ll tell you.”

He picks up a small knife, turning it so the blade catches the glare of the lights. It’s serrated.

“This man is famous. He’s made… dozens of videos for the internet. Very niche videos, but he earned his fortune and fame…”

Shiro gestures, and Lance realises- this- this isn’t just for him; Shiro speaks as if the warehouse around them is full of spectators, that seats and eyes surround them, not the oppressive darkness. 

“He has quite a few devoted fans. But there are many… many that despise him.”

Shiro steps behind the chair, fingers gently running along a wire. 

“Many that can’t stomach his content, many that can’t comprehend his evil. There’s a line, isn’t there? Even for the worst of us…”

“Shiro-”

“Children.”

The word hangs in the air, the first burr of anger clinging to it,Shiro’s eyes widening.

“This man before you, he took children. He hurt them, he tortured them.”

Shiro lets out a breath, free hand curling around the line. 

“And after they died… he fed them to his dogs.”

The atmosphere shatters as Shiro yanks down, tearing the hook free of the man’s skin, holding it up as he writhes, shaking and squirming; the other hooks pulling and threatening to come free. 

There’s a small chunk of flesh, and Shiro gives a satisfied smile.

“I will tear you to pieces. I will reduce you to chunks.”

He cuts the gag free, releasing shrieks and sobs, broken words spilling forth, begging, pleading, bargaining. 

Shiro lets the hook drop, and Lance can’t move. The man looks to him, leaning forward in his chair, tears streaming from his face.

“You don’t want this- This is real-! Help me! HELP ME, PLEASE!”

Lance stares as the man blubbers, trying to overcome his horror, to speak...

“Is that…?”

“Hmm?” Shiro says, covering the man’s mouth, “what is it?”

“Is that true?” Lance whispers. His body is cold with the absolute horror, mind blank, unable to comprehend such- such evil-

“Answer him. Tell him.”

“N-no! No- he’s lying- he just wants views-! He’s ly-AAAARGH! AAAH!”

Shiro’s head shakes as he swings the newly-freed hook in his hand. 

“The truth.”

“... s-so what… if I did…? We all- we all do this-!”

His eyes are wild as he stares at Lance.

“You, you’re filming this guy! He’s- he’s gonna kill me! You can’t let him kill me!”

“You killed children?” Lance whispers. He can’t stop his own tears.

“If only he were so kind,” Shiro says, quietly, “only after they close enough to death anyway. He tortured them. And then he put the videos online.”

_ Videos. _

“He filmed- he- he-”

“Well, his cameraman did. We work in partners or groups, someone has to film. Someone needs to capture the moment.”

Shiro’s mouth twists, and he wrenches another hook free.

“I need you to capture this. For all those lost souls, for all those seeking vengeance. We will give it to them, Lance.”

His eyes meet his, and there’s nothing but the scent of blood and the roaring in Lance’s ears.

“Capture these moments.”

 

-

 

Lance heaves, on his knees, coughing up bile into the toilet. There’s nothing else in his stomach, his throat burning.

He’d stood there, unable to move, for hours. Hours. Watching Shiro strip down the- the monster that he’d caught; revealing to them all that he was really just a man. That men could do this… 

Lance had never heard such sounds, never seen such brutality. Shiro reduced him to an animal, slavering and begging for death. 

At first, he continued to lie, continued to plead to Lance. Shiro was lying, Shiro had lied to him, right? He heard Shiro wouldn’t hurt him- he could do something- anything!

Then he’d snapped, laughing that yes, it was true, he’d done it. He’d killed those kids, he’d killed them all-

Then furious yelling. It hadn’t lasted long, but he’d screamed to the rafters that Shiro was no better, none of them were any better; not Lance, not the parents, not this audience or his audience. The only difference was they had the guts to do it, the guts to answer their desires, to answer to their real selves. 

Shiro had broken some toes, peeled away skin when he started babbling about his fortune, the money that his ‘sicko fans’ had paid; some of them had special requests, he had so much money, Shiro could have it, please, just don’t kill him, just stop-!

Shiro’s gloves glistened with blood; Lance didn’t realise a person had so much. 

The begging. The broken words of remorse, of sorrow. Asking for forgiveness. 

Shiro promised that he wouldn’t kill him. God, the weeping, the smile...

Then. Then…

The howling. The barking, the snapping of teeth and furious barks. 

He had to move, to follow Shiro as he moved the victim. Capturing every moment. 

Lance almost pissed himself when Shiro opened a hatch, revealing the pit; full of dogs, clambering on one another, snapping and snarling.

“They’re starving,” Shiro says, softly, “I didn’t have the food they liked on hand.”

He drops a few of the chunks of flesh in; it sends the dogs into a ravenous frenzy, fighting over the scraps of meat. 

“Please- Please- gob- gob- no- no- please-!”

Shiro looks at Lance; is there a touch of pride in his smile?

He tips the chair, sending the man down into the pit. His arm steadies Lance, linking around his waist as the camera pans down, capturing the last moments as the dogs tear the body apart. 

He takes the camera from Lance’s shaking hands, and pulls him away from the feeding frenzy.

The night passes in a daze, car ride blurring into Shiro’s apartment, into (leaving the crime scene like that…?)  the hot spray of water, soap, a soft bed and warm blankets. Shiro saying things he can’t remember. A touch to his face, his waist…

A caress on his head. 

And then, sleep, sleep punctuated with images of a man crawling through the door, ruined fingers splintering into bone and flesh; he’s dying, but he doesn’t stop. He should be dead-

Lance had woken up. Seen the unfamiliar room; the sunlight on the curtains. Heard someone humming, distantly.

Not a dream, not a nightmare- reality- it had been real. 

 

And he’d filmed the whole thing.

 

-

 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading :)
> 
> I'm at yanderayy.tumblr.com


End file.
